


my soul's warmest fireplace

by stonedgeralt



Series: comms batch 1 [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury Recovery, M/M, Trans Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, non-sexual body exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:42:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26798287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonedgeralt/pseuds/stonedgeralt
Summary: Jaskier grumbles and moves his hand up to Geralt’s chest, smoothing it over his pecs. "I don’t know what’s more offensive,” he says, “that you think I’m wrong, or that you think I’m lying to you.”Geralt softens, then, and kisses Jaskier’s forehead. “Sorry,” he says quietly.“It’s not your fault,” Jaskier says. “You just haven’t heard it enough.” He leans in to kiss Geralt’s cheek, smiling against stubbled skin. “But now you’re with me, and I’m going to change that.”---Jaskier takes it upon himself to remind Geralt that he's worthy of love.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: comms batch 1 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889128
Comments: 37
Kudos: 231





	my soul's warmest fireplace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ali, who wanted trans Geralt getting some love. Thank you so much for this prompt! ❤
> 
> As usual, thanks to [Dallie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubadore) for her beta work!
> 
> Title is from a poem by Sanober Khan in her book _A Thousand Flamingos_.

“How’re you feeling, darling?”

Geralt groans in response. 

“That bad, huh?” Jaskier steps into the room holding a pitcher. “Or are you just being whiny?”

Geralt grumbles, then curses when Jaskier opens the curtains, burying his face in his pillow.

“You can mope in the dark when I’m not here,” Jaskier teases. “I have to change your bandages.”

“Fine,” Geralt sighs. He uncovers his face and blinks at Jaskier. “You look nice.”

“Thanks. Thought I’d dress up for you.” Jaskier winks at him. “Now sit up and let me see that leg.”

“Love you, too,” Geralt mutters, smirking when Jaskier pouts at him. He props up his pillows and leans back against them, then tugs the blanket away from his legs.

“Good boy.” Jaskier kisses his forehead. “Have some water when I’m done, and then I’ll take you to the privy.”

“Thank you.”

Jaskier retrieves a roll of fresh bandages and a vial of salve from his pack. Then he pulls up a stool and gets to work. Geralt hisses in pain at the sensation of the wrappings pulling away from his wound. The swelling has gone down, thankfully, and it’s not as red and angry-looking now. Jaskier works quickly yet gently, leaning in to press soothing kisses to Geralt’s knee, his hip, his belly. 

When he’s finished, he pours water from the pitcher into a cup and hands it to Geralt, who drains it in seconds. Jaskier refills it with an amused smile. After Geralt’s had his fill of water, Jaskier hoists him up, supporting his left side. Jaskier drapes a towel over Geralt’s hips, and then they head for the privy. This inn is rather fancy, so its facilities are indoors.

This particular aspect of being injured had been uncomfortable at first, but Jaskier quickly figured out that he could just fill the awkward silence with aimless chatter. It helps them both feel more at ease with the situation. Geralt hardly blushes anymore, and it’s not as though Jaskier hasn’t seen him in various states of undress before this.

They’d made things “official” about three months ago, after falling into bed together one drunken night. It was bound to happen sooner or later. The next morning, during the inevitable conversation about what had happened, Geralt blurted his feelings for Jaskier before he could stop himself. Jaskier’s beaming smile had warmed Geralt’s heart, and the ensuing kiss made it sing. Since that day, Geralt’s been happier than he can remember ever being before. He’s absolutely head-over-heels in love with Jaskier, and being injured has only further confirmed it.

And it’s not because Jaskier waits on him hand and foot - he doesn’t. If Geralt can do something on his own, Jaskier lets him (or makes him, if it comes to that). Really, the only things Geralt has trouble with are bathing, dressing himself, and using the privy, and Jaskier has been more than happy to help him with all of it. 

It’s almost unbearably sweet, and Geralt has been trying desperately to think of a way to repay Jaskier for his help. There’s sex, of course - he’s already made up his mind to suck Jaskier’s cock once a day for a week when he’s finally healed. And Geralt can’t exactly wait around for Jaskier to get injured so that he can dote on him, too. He hopes he’ll figure something out soon.

When they get back to their room, Jaskier helps Geralt into bed. It’s the middle of Feainn, and the air is steadily growing warmer. Jaskier opens the window to let the breeze flow through the room. Then he kicks off his boots, shrugs off his doublet, and climbs into bed beside Geralt.

“What’re you doing?” Geralt asks.

“Resting,” Jaskier answers, blue eyes glinting mischievously. “You’re rather heavy, you know.” 

Geralt grumbles. “Piss off.”

“Oh, stop,” Jaskier says with a laugh. “I know it’s all muscle.” He reaches out and rests his hand over Geralt’s stomach, rubbing his thumb in little circles. “So handsome,” he murmurs.

Geralt scoffs, even as he wraps his arm around Jaskier and pulls him closer. 

“Don’t scoff at me,” Jaskier protests. “You act as though I’m lying.” When Geralt gives him a pointed look, he makes a noise of faux outrage. “Geralt of Rivia, you are the handsomest man I’ve ever seen, and I won’t hear any arguments to the contrary.”

With a thoughtful hum, Geralt shuts his eyes and presses a kiss to the crown of Jaskier’s head. “You’re sweet,” he murmurs, “but you’re wrong.”

Jaskier grumbles and moves his hand up to Geralt’s chest, smoothing it over his pecs. “I don’t know what’s more offensive,” he says, “that you think I’m wrong, or that you think I’m lying to you.”

Geralt softens, then, and kisses Jaskier’s forehead. “Sorry,” he says quietly.

“It’s not your fault,” Jaskier says. “You just haven’t heard it enough.” He leans in to kiss Geralt’s cheek, smiling against stubbled skin. “But now you’re with me, and I’m going to change that.”

Before Geralt can protest, Jaskier is moving. He straddles Geralt’s hips, being careful not to disturb his leg, and grins down at him. Then he says, “Starting now.”

“Jaskier, we can’t—”

“Not everything is about sex, Geralt,” Jaskier sniffs. “Now lie still and let me work.”

He slides his hands up Geralt’s chest, then runs calloused fingers over his collarbone. Jaskier’s hands continue over Geralt’s shoulders, then his upper arms, where they stop and squeeze the muscles there. 

“So strong,” Jaskier says, his voice reverent. “You’ve worked hard for these, hm? Be proud of your strength.”

Geralt averts his gaze. His face is warm with embarrassment. “Jaskier…”

“Hush.” Jaskier’s hands move upward to cradle Geralt’s face. “Lovely,” he murmurs. “Just lovely.” His fingers rasp over the stubble on Geralt’s cheeks. Jaskier leans in to kiss the small scar over Geralt’s right eyebrow, then the one beneath the corner of his eye. “Your scars don’t make you ugly,” he whispers. “I don’t know how many people have told you that they do, but you don’t need to be one of them.”

Unbidden, Geralt feels a lump forming in his throat, and he swallows it; his eyes prickle with the threat of tears, which he blinks away. He doesn’t speak - what could he possibly say?

Jaskier moves his lips to Geralt’s mouth and kisses him gently. There’s no heat, no urgency in it - just a sweet softness, a love that Geralt still can’t quite believe is for him.

“I love you,” Jaskier says. “My heart is full to bursting with it.”

Geralt has to swallow again before answering: “I love you, too.”

Jaskier’s expression is concerned. “Need me to stop?” he asks. “I know this is a lot.”

“It’s alright,” Geralt says. “It’s a lot, but I… I need it.”

With a fond smile, Jaskier kisses him again. “I know, sweetheart.” He lifts himself up and settles at Geralt’s side so as not to disturb his wound. Then Jaskier trails kisses along Geralt’s chest, paying extra attention to the curved pink scars just under his pecs. He pulls away for a moment to ask, “Did they hurt?”

“Yes,” Geralt says. He remembers the searing pain, like a thousand knives had pierced his ribcage; he’d lost his voice from screaming. He also remembers seeing the results for the first time, seeing _his_ chest, and the way he’d cried with joy. “But it was worth it.”

Jaskier beams at him. “I’m glad,” he murmurs. He kisses each of the scars once more before moving on, trailing down Geralt’s belly and running his fingers through the silvery hair there. “I’m also glad that you’ve been eating better,” he says, poking at Geralt’s stomach.

Geralt blushes and mumbles, “Yeah.” He’s gained a bit of weight recently - he always does with a leg injury, since he’s not as active. Jaskier has also been adamant that Geralt eats three meals a day during their stay in the inn, which has certainly contributed to the new softness around his middle.

Jaskier chooses that moment to blow a raspberry against Geralt’s belly. He dodges Geralt’s half-hearted smack with a laugh. “So cute when you’re irritated,” he teases. “You look good, filled out like this.”

“Thanks,” Geralt says, still blushing. 

Jaskier rests his cheek on Geralt’s stomach and looks up at him. “Did I ever tell you that I didn’t know witchers could blush?” he asks. When Geralt shakes his head, Jaskier continues, “I thought that, with your slow heart rate, it would be impossible for you. I wanted to confirm it, so I tried everything I could think of to make it happen. But you’d just roll your eyes or ignore me. I’d just about given up, but then…” He smirks. “I made a comment about how big some stableman’s cock had been, and there it was: your elusive blush.”

Geralt remembers very clearly how hot his face had been while Jaskier gave a detailed summary of his night with the handsome stableman in the last town. He hadn’t been aware that all of the awkward things Jaskier said to him before that were just attempts to get him to blush. “Well, now you know why,” he says, his voice soft.

“Yes,” Jaskier replies, “I suppose I do.”

They’re both quiet for a few minutes. Geralt reaches down to cup Jaskier’s face in his hand, while Jaskier lightly runs his fingers over Geralt’s chest. Then Jaskier kisses Geralt’s navel and continues his work. He rubs his thumbs over Geralt’s hip bones as he moves his head lower.

“Jaskier,” Geralt warns.

“Relax,” Jaskier says. “I’m not trying to start anything. Just want to look at you. Is that alright?”

Geralt nods, even though he’s not sure he can keep his body’s reactions under control. But he knows that Jaskier will stop if he asks. 

“Thank you. Now, lift your leg up…” Geralt does, and Jaskier slides beneath it. “Perfect. Lovely view, by the way.”

“Shut up,” Geralt mutters, flicking Jaskier’s ear.

“Rude. You’re interrupting my work.”

Propping his head on one hand, Jaskier uses the other to lightly massage Geralt’s uninjured thigh, gradually moving upward. Geralt’s breath catches in his throat when Jaskier runs his thumb through the thatch of hair just above his cock. He glances down and sees that Jaskier’s eyes aren’t dark with lust, but wide and curious as he observes.

“I should do this more often,” Jaskier murmurs. 

Geralt snorts. “Try to rile me up, you mean?” 

“No, just…” Jaskier pulls back the thin folds of skin from Geralt’s cock. “Want to take my time to admire you the way you deserve.”

All thoughts of indecency dissolve when Geralt hears those words. The lump in his throat returns, and the urge to cry is so strong that he has to bite his tongue. No one has ever treated him like this, like he’s delicate and precious, and it’s simultaneously the strangest and most wonderful feeling in the world.

Jaskier’s fingers are reverent, neither seeking nor taking. They brush over Geralt’s folds and spread him gently, stroking through the bit of slick that’s gathered despite Geralt’s best efforts.

Geralt can’t help but squirm. “Jaskier,” he says, cursing inwardly when his voice breaks.

“Right, sorry.” Jaskier presses a kiss of apology to the soft skin of Geralt’s inner thigh. “You’re just so gorgeous. Got a bit carried away.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Geralt deadpans, “Geralt ‘Gorgeous Cunt’ of Rivia.”

The corners of Jaskier’s eyes crinkle as he bursts into laughter, and Geralt smiles. Gods, how he loves this man.

“Hey,” he says softly. 

Jaskier sighs and wipes a tear from his eye. “Yes?”

“C’mere.” Geralt opens his arms and reaches for Jaskier, who slips out from beneath Geralt’s leg and settles half on top of his chest. Geralt buries his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, holding him close. “I love you,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry for not saying it more. But I do. So much.”

“I know you do, Geralt.” Jaskier begins petting his hair, and Geralt leans into the touch with a soft sound. “And I want you to love yourself, too.”

Geralt grumbles a “yeah” against Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I mean it,” Jaskier chides. “Just because you’re a fearsome witcher doesn’t mean you’re not worthy of love. And besides, I’ve seen how kind and sweet you can be, you big softy.” Jaskier lifts his head and captures Geralt’s face in his hands. When he speaks again, he punctuates each word with a gentle kiss: “You are worthy of love.” Then he presses their foreheads together and murmurs, “And I’ll tell you every day, I’ll _show_ you every day, even after you start believing it.”

Geralt takes a deep, shuddery breath. Tears blur his vision - he blinks and they spill over, running down his face toward his ears. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“No need for that,” Jaskier says. He thumbs away fresh tears threatening to fall from Geralt’s eyes. “Or that. I know it’s overwhelming. But we’ll practice, alright? It’ll get easier.”

Geralt winces. “We’re gonna do this every day?”

“Every day,” Jaskier confirms. “Maybe twice a day, if you need it.”

“I don’t know if I can sit still while you… touch me,” Geralt says, turning his face away to hide his embarrassment.

“That’s alright,” Jaskier soothes. “Like I said, we’ll practice.” He smiles sweetly and kisses Geralt’s forehead. Then he asks, “Are you hungry? They were fixing lunch when I was downstairs. I can fetch you something.”

Geralt hums quietly. “Can we just… lay here for a bit?”

“Of course we can.” Jaskier shifts to settle beside Geralt, draping one arm over Geralt’s chest. “Let me know when you’re ready to eat.”

“Yeah.” Geralt barely stifles a yawn. He stretches his arms over his head, then wraps one around Jaskier’s shoulders, pulling him tight against his side. 

“Sleep well,” Jaskier says. Then he smirks and adds, “Gorgeous Cunt.”

Geralt groans. “I’m going to regret that, aren’t I?” he mutters.

With a delighted laugh, Jaskier replies, “It won’t leave this room, but we’re going to be here for a while yet, so get used to it.” He leans up and kisses Geralt’s chin. “I love you. Get some rest.”

“Love you, too.” Geralt pauses, then says, “And thank you. I needed that.”

Jaskier’s voice is sleepy when he answers: “I know.”

Geralt chuckles quietly. He focuses on Jaskier’s breathing as it evens and slows. He inhales the soft citrusy-cinnamon scent that he’s come to associate with Jaskier, with comfort, with home.

“I am…” Geralt stops and grimaces, face heating up. But Jaskier is fast asleep now and couldn’t possibly hear him. He takes a deep breath, then another. Finally, the words come out in a rush: “I am worthy of love.”

Warmth surges through him, blooming in his chest and spreading to his toes. He says it again, and it has the same effect: a shot of pleasant heat through his veins. 

Humming thoughtfully, Geralt closes his eyes. He’s rather looking forward to tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on Twitter [@stonedgeralt](https://www.twitter.com/stonedgeralt)!
> 
> Special thanks to Eman, smiecht, and OrgasmicCrayons for their support!


End file.
